Gentlemen Don't Exist
by Lionona
Summary: After finally ending her prearranged marriage, the young Portuguese woman, Maria, promises herself that she will never come to love a man again. If only fate had the same plan in store for her...
1. One: The Happy Spanish Wedding

One

The wedding bells resounded valiantly throughout the city as the newlywed Portuguese woman slumped down onto the bed, grasping the sheets. Her eyes were clouded with tears. The bedroom's pale white curtains had been pulled back to reveal the balcony and the sun's dying rays dimly lit the room. Though the celebration dragged on outside, she waited in silence—wishing that it would end. Fresh tears had just escaped her eyes when she overheard the clicking and opening of the door. She quickly dried her face, refusing to turn a glance to the man that had just entered.

The door was closed, soft footsteps following it, and as anticipated her husband was at her side, kneeling over the bed where she lay. He brushed the woman's auburn curls back.

"How do you feel, Mrs. Carriedo?" The Spaniard muttered to her in the gentlest tone he could manage, though she internally winced at the sound of her new surname. She didn't respond; her eyes averted his gaze. He sighed heavily, rubbing a thumb over her moist cheeks.

"You know, you shouldn't be crying on your wedding day, Maria."

She blinked. Her dry lips parted, "As if _you_ were the one who proposed, Antonio,"

"That doesn't mean that I can't treat you like my wife."

Her eyes narrowed, "You don't have to pretend to play the role of a loving husband," she snapped, looking up at his emerald eyes.

He paused, then simply smiled, "Now, what would have everyone else thought if we walked down the aisle frowning? How do you think your mother would feel knowing you're unhappy, even though it was your father's last request before he passed so that _your_ future would be preserved?"

There was a pained look in Maria's eyes once she recalled the guests, the family members, of both her family and Antonio's in attendance at the ceremony. She felt guilty for having to wear a fake smile as she accepted gifts, having to force herself to show affection to Antonio, having to create a happy lie for her family's namesake.

"My father, looking down on me, would know that I'm unhappy."

"Then, smile for him, too."

As his words sunk in, she realized that she couldn't even begin to comprehend Antonio's pain.

They were both carrying the burdens of their families and, still, his smile never seemed to fade.

"Now," he reached over and carefully pulled off Maria's heels, "You look tired, and you need to be well rested for tomorrow."

Without complaint, Maria sat up, moving her curls over her shoulder as Antonio undid her dress.

* * *

A marriage without love is a strange thing.

You find that your main goal for the day is to avoid the other and to exchange as few words as possible.

Everything loses the fabulousness it would be associated with— if only we were a loving newlywed couple. Sharing a house, a bedroom, a bed—it felt meaningless, like having a roommate instead of a spouse.

That isn't to say that we didn't assign ourselves to our predetermined roles as husband and wife.

Every morning, I would lay out his work clothes and prepare breakfast for him. And every afternoon, I made sure he would have a meal. I cleaned. I washed. I didn't speak a word. At times when I would become completely absorbed in my thoughts, I would repeat the same chores in a daze. Surely, if Antonio caught me in this quiet trance, he would call out to me in a sweet, singing voice, "Maria, you've been wiping the table for twenty minutes."

We lived in a grand house near Madrid. Being so far away from my family's home in Portugal, not smelling the salt of the sea, made me homesick and pale. Antonio would often suggest that we move to one of Spain's many coastal cities, but I refused. It would not have made a difference. Still hoping to relieve me, we would take several trips to Lisbon. He encouraged me to visit my mother—to get out of the house, but I had always feared the cracks that would show themselves in our happy lives. I did not wish to show my mother how deeply miserable I had become.

Only a year had passed when my mother fell ill and became bedridden.

I had no choice but to stay by her side and care for her.

My father's death was something my mother wasn't quite sure how to handle. The illness soon proved to be the final stage of her mourning. She passed, in silence, with a placid smile on her lips, happy to rejoin my father once again.

Her passing severed the last bond of obligation to my crippling marriage. With my immediate family gone, I could roam freely, but a looming debt Antonio amassed from his constant spending had exhausted my family's business. I had to act quickly and with what little money I had left, I sought out help to end the marriage that had consumed the last three years of my life.

Before my mother's passing, only one person knew the truth about our marriage. The older of the Italian Vargas brothers was one of the more frequent visitors to our home. Having been raised by the unrelenting mafia in southern Italy, he looked to other places as a means to escape his harsh life, and being a close childhood friend to Antonio, it wasn't uncommon for him to stay in our home for days, if not weeks, at a time. Oddly enough, where he was cold and aloof to men, he was a kinder person in the company of women and though he was initially timid, he was always eager to speak. Having him around eased my loneliness—to the point where I would spill secrets. He would eventually be the only person I confided in when I plotted to take my leave to re-visit an old friend.

* * *

"Dammit!" The Italian cursed, lowering his hands to the ground, translucent red liquid dripping from them. Maria leaned over the young man's shoulder and observed the broken flesh of the ripe tomato he had viciously pulled from its vine. She gathered up the soiled fruit and set it aside in her basket, then wiped the young man's stained hands with her apron. She chuckled, "You have to be gentler than that when you pick tomatoes, Lovino." He waited until she was finished to breathe again.

She reached for another red fruit, feeling the firmness of it. "Use your index finger and thumb to pinch the stem, and then snap it." She held the tomato up for him to see before she laid it in the basket. Lovino scrunched up his face as he attempted to replicate her movements, breaking the stem, but slightly bruising the fruit. He snarled, as though the fruit had damaged itself.

"That's good!" The Portuguese woman immediately praised, aware that the Italian wasn't very skilled with his hands, "Now, we can get this done twice as fast with your help."

Warmth colored his olive skin. He hurriedly pulled at every nearby fruit. "Hey, hey, _Signora*_ Carriedo, I'm finished!" He proudly declared.

Maria turned to him with a soft smile, "_Muito obrigada**_, Lovino. You're a great worker," she rose up and lightly pecked the man's cheek.

He folded his arms his head turned away, shaking slightly, "W-Well, it was nothing," he stammered, his face a vivid red.

Maria lifted the basket, "Would you like to stay for dinner, Lovino? Antonio will be home in a few hours."

"Of course, I don't want to see that cheerful bastard! But, I'll make an exception if you're here."

Maria glanced up at Lovino in between slicing tomatoes. "I didn't ask, where's the younger Vargas brother, Feliciano?"

Lovino shrugged, "Somewhere with that German potato bastard, probably."

"And Bella?" Maria asked referring to Isabel, a young Belgian girl he had grown fond of over the years. She paused, gauging his expression. At his reluctance to answer, she quickly apologized for mentioning the name.

The Italian turned away from the woman and spoke, "I thought you and Bel were good friends."

Maria fought a frown, "I've gotten out of touch with her and Eliza." She swiftly moved to the stove and poured rice into a boiling pot.

Lovino watched, his chin resting on his palm, "You're making that stupid rice dish again?"

"_Paella_, and, yes, I do try to make food he enjoys."

Lovino snorted, "How long do you plan on staying married to him?"

"My mother's funeral is in a few days, and I'm still looking for someone to fund the business. Whenever that someone comes along, I can finally have some backing to push for a divorce."

He folded his arms over the table and lowered his head, "You're a strong woman, _Signora_ Carriedo—the way you're able to endure pain like that without shedding a tear."

* * *

Funny, Lovino's words stuck with me as we stood to say our final farewells to my mother.

I realized, then, the last time I had cried was three years ago…

* * *

_*Italian for "Mrs."_

_**Portuguese for "Thank you very much,"_

Whew, hello guys! I've been wanting to write a story featuring Portugal (Maria) as an OC for a while, and here's the final product. The story is reminiscent of real events in history, but with a twist! (This chapter starts with the Iberian Union in 1580) There are several pairings, but I won't give away what they are and hopefully you guys will find out soon enough! Uhm, other things I wanted to mention...Oh! Antonio and Maria aren't related in the story because...I didn't want there to be any incest...

Also, cookies for you if you know who Maria's _old friend_ is!


	2. Two: Bad Friends Trio

Two

Drizzling gray clouds lingered over the city. Exhausted from her long journey, the woman glanced over the sprawling streets, plotting a route to her destination. Her heels _clacked_ with every step as she trudged through narrow interweaving roads, tugging on her cloak in an effort to protect herself from the rain.

The streetlamps flickered on and illuminated her darkened path. In between the heavy precipitation and fog, she stopped, and observed her surroundings. Sensing some familiarity within the area, she looked and found the house she had been searching for. There, she tapped on the door and waited.

Minutes passed. The door clicked, its lock becoming undone, and a young man with wild scraggly blonde-hair and prominent, thick eyebrows opened the door. His hazel eyes squinted, unable recognize the hooded figure.

"Who-?"

"Hello, Arthur. I haven't seen you in a long time," Maria withdrew her hood, grateful to see the man.

"Mind helping out an old friend?"

* * *

My marriage put a strain on my relationship with Arthur. I had gotten tied into any hostilities Antonio's family had with the rivaling English family and I could not visit or contact him for the duration of those years. Though I was gravely concerned about the current status of our friendship, it seemed that we both understood the circumstances.

I didn't need an explanation for him to agree to help me; his parents, however, took a little more convincing. Thus, I offered what little I could and I leased part of my family's business to them. They, in turn, would overlook the debt my recent marriage had accumulated for a share of the profits that were made. I would have to rely on his family for some time, but I would, at least, have enough money to afford a decent life. With that matter settled, I focused on my original intentions.

Antonio half-heartedly opposed the divorce. He wasn't exactly thrilled with this strange turn of events, and I began to wonder if his parents were harsher on him about accepting the separation rather than my urging of it.

Regardless, the weight of the marriage was one heavy burden removed.

For the first time after my parents' deaths, I went back to my quaint home in Lisbon.

I could breathe a final sigh of relief. It wasn't a dreamy life, but one without restraints. Adjusting to this new life, however, was more difficult than I had anticipated. The house needed reorganizing, but I found it difficult to part with my parents' possessions. I hardly set a foot in their room.

The emptiness and silence of my home was another problem I learned I could never properly cope with. The lack of people, the lack of voices, was unnerving. My erratic sleeping patterns paired with my loneliness caused me to yearn for the company of someone I was the most familiar and comfortable with at that time—Lovino.

Partially because of his empathy, I didn't wish to abandon him. If it were at all possible, I would have visited his home in Italy, however, I knew there was no avoiding it. I decided that I would return to the only other home he and I both knew.

* * *

"_Lo siento_, Maria," the Spaniard apologized, his mouth a hard line, "But Lovino isn't here." He sounded even more disappointed than she was at the fact.

"I see," Maria lowered her gaze, wanting to leave, but considering it rude to do so. There was an uncomfortable stillness between them.

Antonio exhaled and offhandedly scratched on the back of his neck, "He called yesterday saying that he was headed this way," he admitted. His eyes searched over the horizon, deep with concern. "You're free to stay here and wait for him." Antonio swiftly glanced at Maria and stood aside, allowing her in his home.

She felt that she didn't have much of a choice. She entered the house, determined to make her visit brief.

If only that determination could last. She promptly regretted her decision upon seeing Antonio's infamous friends in attendance. Memories of the three men together weren't at all kind. The Portuguese woman forced herself to show no scorn as she settled down at the table.

There was some subtle surprise painted on the men's faces.

Maria closed her eyes in a vain attempt to calm herself. She greeted the men cautious of her tone, "*_Boa tarde_, Gilbert…Francis,"

"If it isn't the ol' ball and chain! Come to weigh down Toni some more?" The Prussian teased, letting his signature cackle fill the room, much to Maria's distaste. She narrowed her eyes at the clueless Spaniard sitting across from her, as if to convey a warning.

"Good to see you, too, Gilbert. I trust you and _Lizzy_ have been well." She responded, recalling the trouble the man had being raised by a highly religious family and having affections for a woman he couldn't touch without repenting.

Gilbert gritted his teeth at hearing the fond nickname he had once given the Hungarian woman. He suddenly couldn't find the words for a rebuttal. "S-She—uh! You should know better than to speak that name!"

Maria raised a brow, surprised at how the mere mentioning of the woman had left him staggering. She nearly wanted to apologize to ease the man's anguish.

Francis sighed, "Gil, please get a hold of yourself."

Gilbert bit his lip and pouted, refusing to speak. Ignoring the small tantrum the man just threw, Francis leaned over towards Maria and took her hand in his, kissing it lightly. "It's a pleasure to be in your company again, _mademoiselle_. You've definitely _grown_ in these past few years," he smirked.

Maria blinked, unsure of whether to process that as a compliment or a sexual invitation. Only too soon did she realize that the Frenchman was leaning in closer. His hand felt her thigh and she recoiled, jabbing his foot with the point of her heel. He yelped in pain and retreated back, holding his injured foot.

Now exasperated, Maria set her hands firmly down on the table with a _thump_ and stood. It wasn't worth waiting—not with these two men around. She looked to Antonio, who seemed in a daze. It's a wonder why he didn't understand why Lovino hated his friends.

"Antonio," Maria called sharply. The Spaniard tilted his head with a faint smile, "_Si?_"

"If you can, please pass my message along to Lovino." With that, she hurried out, leaving the three men in an unpleasant silence.

Francis and Gilbert looked to each other, then Antonio. He didn't seem at all phased by the Portuguese woman's departure, still partially mesmerized by his thoughts, almost unsure why his company looked so sore. Knowing that this was just part of the Spaniard's bubbly nature, they relaxed.

"That woman," the Frenchman brushed his blonde locks back, "She really hasn't changed much. Feisty, but I like that." A devious, pleasureful smirk crept on his face even as he worked to relieve the aching in his foot.

"Maria's always been a tough one, but she did seem livelier today." Antonio mused, drawing off of Francis's observation. "It felt kind of awkward to be near her again, I haven't spoken to her since she left for England."

The Frenchman's ears perked up, "England, you say?" There was a well-known rivalry between Francis and the young son of the English family, Arthur. Any new information the two could dig up on each other proved useless one way or another.

Antonio nodded, "Apparently, Arthur is a good friend of hers,"

"Interesting," Francis's stroked the stubble on his chin pondering for a moment, already forming a plan in his mind

"Gah! You guys are boring, talking about women! Why don't we go out for drinks?" Gilbert complained, leaning back in his chair.

"Ah, then," Francis gestured to the Spaniard, "If Toni's fine with it,"

Antonio stiffened for a moment, noticing that more attention had been directed towards him. He had originally intended to remain home and await Lovino's arrival, but he hated denying his friends. He decided that he would somehow appease both parties.

"So be it," Antonio lifted up from his seat, "Though I must ask that we choose some place nearby this time,"

* * *

Maria was never a stranger in Arthur's home and she was grateful to have someone reasonable to talk to. The Englishman was more astute than many others at his age, despite being so boisterous in his youth. Even now, though Arthur proclaimed himself a gentleman, his stubbornness would often get the best of him. Convinced that the man was no gentleman at heart, the Portuguese would utter to him with a smug smile, "Gentlemen don't exist," to call him out when she noticed his façade slipping.

Occasionally Arthur would snap back into his guise ending the debate. And if he didn't, she had promptly won that argument.

The pair sat together at a small coffee table, reminiscing on their younger years over tea. Genial feelings dissipated when Maria retold her encounter with the bad trio.

"Francis Bonnefoy," Arthur paused and took a sip of tea, "Has been causing me more problems than I care to remember," he sighed wearily.

Maria raised her brows. The name was oddly familiar.

"Bonnefoy," Maria absently stirred her tea and raised it to her lips, "So, that's his last name."

"What?" Arthur peered up at her.

"My mother was a good friend of the Bonnefoy family. I didn't know that he was one of their children." She imagined the son and father standing next to each other, "When I was younger, I overheard the talk about their son being a troublesome child, but I think I misunderstood the word troublesome." Maria elaborated, somewhat scoffing at the reality. "They were such humble people," she drifted quietly into her thoughts.

Arthur set his cup down, fed up with dwelling on the past, and especially Francis. He hoped nothing hinted at a question that had been plaguing his mind for some time. Maria did notice that he seemed more stern than usual, but as with most things when it came to Arthur, she waited for him to speak. He decided to take advantage of the abrupt silence.

"H-Hey, are you hungry?" He spoke, avoiding her gaze.

"Not if you're cooking." Maria responded instantly, her expression grave.

"I meant—!" He spoke slowly, careful to not trip over his words, "If you'd like, we could go out for dinner." Arthur mumbled. His face flushed a light pink.

Maria stared at the man, stunned by his proposal.

He braced himself for rejection.

"Of course, I'd have to take you up on that offer," she smiled.

* * *

Maria fiddled with the phone, anxiously pacing her kitchen. She dialed the numbers written on a scrap of paper.

There were four intermittent ringing tones. On the last ring, a cheery voice answered, "Hallo?"

"Bella?" Maria sighed with relief. The phone was quiet.

"M-Marie! Is that you?" it suddenly asked, stifled with shock.

"Yes, Bella, how—"

"Oh, Marie! I never thought I'd get to talk to you again!" The voice sped off loudly, and Maria moved the phone away from her ear, listening with a pitiful smile.

"I was beginning to feel so bored up here—especially with my stingy brother! I was okay with only being able to see Liza, but now you two are getting so old! You're both married and having kids!"

"Bella…please," Maria gasped for air, "Slow down! What do you mean _both?_ Eliza isn't married."

"Oh, I forgot that you didn't know. Eliza's wedding is tomorrow." Bella reconciled.

"T-Tomorrow! Bella, who is she being wed to!"

"Isn't that obvious? Roderich!"

Maria covered her eyes with her hand, shaking her head vehemently. "Bella, I'll see you tomorrow. At least I can see Liza off."

* * *

*_Good Afternoon__  
_

I've had this done for a while, but I decided to go ahead and get it uploaded while the next chapter is still in the works (and hopefully it'll be done soon).

I hope this was easy to follow, having to juggle all these different characters gets a bit difficult at times! (Though I do love Bad Touch Trio, lol.) And there will only be more. And don't worry, this will all come together in due time.


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